The Wizard and the Warlord wt-3 Read online

  “That smell is not a product of my girlish dreaming, Father,” she declared, then strode over to the fairy trees at the edge of the path.

  Dostin appeared, as did another pair of elves. They were helping the four-hundred-year-old Master Brevan up to the grove.

  Seeing her, Dostin eased over to Telgra’s side with a warm smile on his round face.

  “Hello, Dostin,” Telgra smiled up at him with a look of smug satisfaction.

  “My lady,” he gave a nodding bow of respect. She had told him to dismiss with the formalities when they arrived, but since his brothers and her father were present she didn’t chide him for it.

  The Giver pulled his magnificent sunset down into the ocean, leaving the sky dark and starlit. The moon was but a faint slip. Her father and the others were engaged in a heated argument and she wasn’t interested anymore. She reached across the walking rail and fondled one of the fiery tree flowers. She saw Dostin looking at her strangely.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry for looking, m’lady,” he said. He seemed very nervous. She half expected him to say that he had fallen in love with her, but he surprised her.

  “It’s your eyes.” He looked at his feet for a moment then back to her. “After all this time, I’m still not used to them. They look like a wildcat’s eyes, or an owl’s eyes.”

  She smirked to hide her relief, then made a strange face, feigning offense.

  “Your eyes are strange to me as well, Dostin.” She looked back at the fiery trees absently. “When I first saw humans in the town called Dalton, just after we left the Evermore, I thought how similar we were built. Then I saw the eyes of your people and realized I was wrong. Your eyes are like robin eggs, Dostin.” She focused more intently on the flower she was stroking and her voice trailed away. “Eggs with sapphires stuck in-” She stopped as she ducked the rail to investigate what had struck her speechless.

  The young elven guard, Corva, suddenly pointed skyward and hissed a warning. No one could see anything above at first, then Dargeon gasped. Brevan mumbled a spell and made a flourishing wave of his hand.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t see us now,” the old elf said when he was done.

  “What is it?” Dostin asked Telgra. He was craning his neck so far back that he was about to fall over backward.

  Telgra was no longer paying attention to the others. Something about the leaves held her captivated.

  “I saw something eclipse the stars,” Corva said, pointing in the sky while looking to Dargeon for a command.

  “A Choska, or maybe a large wyvern,” Dargeon said. He glanced at his daughter and his concern over the flying creature evaporated.

  She was studying the flowers intensely. She didn’t even know creatures had flown over head. Dargeon saw the horrified look on her face. His keen eyes caught the starlit reflection in the tear that ran down her cheek. He hurried to her side, his heart full of fatherly concern.

  “What is it, love?” he asked as he hopped lightly over the guardrail.

  “Look,” she said, putting her chin in her chest and sobbing.

  He was appalled. The fairy tree flowers were turning sickly and black before his eyes. He could almost hear the ancient trees crying out in pain. The atrocious smell in the air, or maybe whatever was causing it, was hurting them. He felt an awful pang of guilt as he stroked Telgra’s golden hair.

  She had warned them, but they had been fools.

  “As long as you shit your britches again, Oarly, we’ll be all right,” Phen said to his dwarven companion. They were in a rowboat fighting the waves just off the rocky shore of the Isle of Kahna. Phen's familiar, a lyna named Spike, lazed in the floorboards. Of the three of them, the porcupine-quill-covered, cat-like creature was the most comfortable at sea. Even so, Phen gently handed the animal up to Captain Biggs, who was standing in the cargo net hanging into the water from the side of the Royal Seawander.

  Phen looked like a statue and he could see how his appearance unnerved the captain. How he’d come to appear to be made of marble was another intriguing tale. He didn't just appear to be made of stone, though. He would still be petrified solid if it weren't for the mighty dragon Claret. In truth, his skin was pretty hard. He weighed as much as three full water kegs. The quality of his personal predicament was exactly why he was doing what he was doing.

  Oarly had fought Phen's decision to go after the Serpent’s Eye emerald from the beginning. Of course, he lost the battle. They, along with Hyden Hawk Skyler and Brady Culvert, had sworn a pact when they found the jewel last spring. Now it was fall, and Brady was dead, killed by a black wyrm, just before the Dragon Queen’s wizard took the silver skull. Sir Hyden Hawk had disappeared into the Nethers of Hell, but they knew he was alive. They had no idea how to go about finding him, though, or if he even wanted to be found. That left just he and Oarly who knew about the jewel. Phen chose to go after the emerald while his hardened skin would be an advantage. Soon he was going to embark on a journey deep into the Giant Mountains to find a magical pool that Claret had told him about. The pool’s warm spring water supposedly had the power to revive his pigment and return his body to its normal flesh-and-bone state. Oarly protested and pleaded, but due to his pact with the others, he couldn't tell anyone what Phen was planning. He was left with no choice but to come along. Phen knew this was the case. He was smart, a fair mage in his own right, and as confident as they come.

  As Phen pulled on the oars, Oarly gave a backward glance at the Royal Seawander. The emerald they were after was in a cave called the Serpent’s Eye. It was only possibly to get inside when the tide was low. They’d chosen the moment just right, as it was almost all the way out as they rowed toward the opening.

  A huge serpent lived inside. When they’d been to the cavern before, the thing had slithered out of its hole and scared Oarly so bad that he’d soiled himself. Strangely, the creature hadn’t killed them, or even attacked them at all. The joke was that the horrible smell of Oarly’s shit had scared the thing away. Phen knew that it had left for other reasons, but teasing Oarly was one of his favorite pastimes.

  The emerald was guarded by far more than just the serpent, though. It sat atop a pile of gold coins, held aloft on a platter by three life-size skeletons molded from rusty iron. Around the whole monumental display was a shallow moat full of slithery eels with needle teeth that might be poisonous. Phen planned to stroll right through the moat, knowing that their fangs wouldn't be able to penetrate his skin. He also had an elven ring he found on his first visit to the cave. It would let him turn invisible after he snatched the jewel. That part of the plan might not even be necessary, Phen knew. Hyden believed that the iron skeletons might come to life and attack after the jewel was taken, but no one was sure if they would. Up until Phen had been turned into a statue by one of the Dragon Queen’s priests, he hadn't been able to imagine an iron rendering of a skeleton coming to life. But now he didn’t doubt the possibility at all. If they did animate, though, they would have a hard time attacking him. He planned on putting on his ring and being invisible even before he snatched the emerald.

  Phen knew his squat little friend was concerned. He was concerned, too. Noticing the look on Oarly’s face, he stopped rowing.

  "Stop worrying, Oarly," Phen said, trying to hide the nervousness he felt.

  "I don't see it, lad." Oarly shook his head. "I don't see how you can sit in a little boat knowing that if you fell into the water you’d sink like a stone."

  Phen cringed. He didn’t want to think about it. "Look Oarly, the tide’s starting to come back in, so the time for back-stepping has gone. Take a few pulls from that flask and concentrate on being ready to shit your britches."

  The dwarf’s laugh turned into a low grumble that ended with him cursing under his breath. He did more than take a sip. He emptied the flask and tossed it into the sea. After a moment he pulled another flask from his boot, took a sip, and mumbled a prayer to Doon. “Let us get on with it then," he barked when
he was done.

  By the time the two were under the rocky ceiling of the entrance and easing into the Serpent’s Eye, the dwarf was belligerent. Phen hoped it was true, that dwarves function better drunk, because in moments they would really be past the point of no return. The tide was already rolling back in and closing the entrance behind them.

  Phen opened his mouth and went through the motions of breathing, even though he wasn't sure if his body actually drew breath or not. He was thankful that he could see the bottom of the cavern pool through the clear water. He was concerned about Oarly now, though. The dwarf was emptying a third flask while patting around on his person in search of another. When he couldn’t find one, he looked over at Phen and shrugged.

  Chapter 3

  The next night the moon was nowhere to be seen. All nine of the elves were gathered in the heart of the fiery tree grove. Brevan was casting spell after spell, some in hopes of protecting the main grove from the blight that affected the smaller copse, and some to conceal the presence of their activities from the spying eyes that were circling high above. Dargeon had to plead with the leaders of the order of monks to not run to the king of Salaya, or his son, just yet. If the human royalty was notified then the elves would be forced to either reveal their presence, or abandon the fiery trees to their fate. Neither choice was acceptable. Reluctantly, the monks agreed to give the elves some time to work with the trees. They didn’t like the idea of keeping the sky-born threat from their king, though. They made that clear.

  Once Brevan felt satisfied that his protective spells were in order, he gathered the elves into a circle. It was awkward as they were standing among the trees holding hands with outstretched arms.

  The old elven mage, with the help of the others, was about to attempt a powerful casting.

  “Where do you want me?” Telgra asked.

  “And me?” Corva stepped up.

  “The power of the Arbor will burn you both,” Brevan warned. “You’re far too young for such a casting.”

  “What little strength they can add might make the difference, Old One,” Telgra’s father argued for her.

  The old elf stopped and stared at her for a moment. His luminous amber orbs were as fierce as anything she’d ever seen. She met his gaze, as did Corva beside her.

  “Very well,” he snapped.

  Telgra was excited, and more than a little afraid. She had only read about high magic or heard tales of it from her instructors back in the Evermore. Her father was a respected mage, but he rarely used his craft. He was an explorer at heart, and he loved nature. He’d been to the Bitter Isles northwest of Coldfrost to observe the great wolves and the ice bears that lived there. He had trudged through the southern marshes cataloging the vast array of amphibians and reptilian life there. He’d even been across the great desert and ridden the humped cullomal beasts through the gorge of fire, where the rare and beautiful tookaskas live.

  It amazed Telgra that he’d done all those things, especially since he’d done them without the humans seeing him.

  Her father gave her right hand a gentle squeeze. Brevan was on her left. She felt safe enough between the two of them. Poor Corva was between stubborn old Oglav, and Teverall, the expedition’s weapon master. Neither of them were particularly powerful magi, but what little craft they did know was needed. If Brevan’s worries about the magic affecting them were founded, Telgra thought, Corva would probably find out. She doubted that the foggy old elf would even remember the words to his great spell, though. He hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge the fact that she wasn’t just a foolish girl trying to get attention. She gave him a glance and a smug look as he started into his casting.

  All at once a warm, electric buzz shot through her. It was uncomfortable, yet familiar. Another squeeze of her hand by her father helped slow her breathing and gave comfort. After that she was on her own as the smell of ozone and the tingling kinetic feeling of raw power came sweeping through her. She looked across the circle at Corva, at his wide-eyed, open-mouthed face. She decided that her expression was probably much the same. Then blinding lavender light erupted from her feet and her mind was washed away into a psychedelic swirl of pastel radiance. What happened next, she would never know, but the sound of it was haunting.

  At first, she heard the murmur and chant of the four elves who knew what was going on, but then the hissing crackle and the deep resonance of the magical power around her forced all else out of her head. At least until the screaming started.

  For a long time she tuned the sound out of her mind, afraid to know what it was that was in so much pain. She felt as if she were stuck deep down in a barrel of honey. There was no up or down, no left or right. She couldn’t breathe.

  After a short time she realized it was the voices of the trees amplified in her head. They were in agony, some more than others. She heard Brevan’s voice distantly as he spoke to them, but she couldn’t make out the words. She heard her father as well. She even heard Dostin’s shrill whine. His was clear and unmistakable.

  “Look, Father Malik,” Dostin exclaimed. “The elves are glowing. And the trees are on fire.”

  The screaming of the trees stopped, and a relative hush descended over the thick buzz of the magic. A sound comparable to a large group all gasping in unison filled her ears. She opened her eyes to look, but was greeted by the same disorienting kaleidoscope of pastel color she had seen with her eyes closed. She was forced to shut them tightly again, lest she began to heave from vertigo.

  Dostin’s voice rang out in fear. “Oh no,” he yelled. “Noooo!” Then he grunted and let out a gurgling scream that caused even the trees to cringe.

  “Oh no, my love,” Telgra heard her father say sadly, then he let go of her hand.

  A soft yell of surprise sounded like it came from old Brevan, but it died away in a gurgling hiss. Scuffling, and then the sound of steel being drawn, came to her ears. Telgra then felt herself being yanked up into the air by something that was causing terrible pain in her shoulders. Blackness crept into the colorful array of her vision and pain replaced the tingle of the magic. She heard her father’s desperate cry over the chaos.

  “Oh, Telgra, no,” he yelled. “Please, no!” His voice was fading, as if he were getting farther away. She could tell by the clipped way he spoke that he was sobbing.

  “Put her down!” her father roared. “Put her dow-” The abruptness with which his words ended, and the wet tearing sound that accompanied the instant, echoed through her brain like a thunderclap. Then there was nothing, save for pain. Eventually even that faded into nothingness.

  He’d been married for only a few weeks, and already High King Mikahl Collum was fighting desperately to keep his myriad of duties from coming between him and his beautiful bride. His good friend and adviser, Lord Alvin Gregory, was working himself ragged trying to lighten Mikahl’s load. Lord Spyra and General Escott were helping as well. This day however, Mikahl had no choice but to leave Queen Rosa’s side and see their unexpected guest himself.

  Borg, the Southern Guardian of the Giant Mountains, was a personal friend, and Mikahl had no intention of brushing off a chance to see Urp, Oof, and Huffa. The three great wolves had carried Mikahl, Hyden Hawk, and Vaegon the elf out of the Giant Mountains and across the Evermore Forest once. Grrr, the proud and fierce leader of the pack, had sacrificed himself to save Mikahl. The people of the realm unknowingly owed a great debt to that wolf. Had he not saved Mikahl, the demon wizard Pael would have taken the city of Xwarda and used the Wardstone to destroy all that was good.

  Why the wolves were here with Borg, instead of at home with King Aldar, Mikahl didn’t know. He was glad they came, though. The messenger had arrived breathless and wide-eyed just moments ago with news of the giant’s sudden appearance at Dreen’s northernmost gate. Very few kingdom folk had ever looked upon a real giant. The half-breed giants who fought alongside the High King in the recent war against Dakahn were as close to a giant as they had seen. Borg was a pure-blooded giant. He
stood over fourteen feet tall and was proportionately as human-formed as the next man, save for his huge slab of a forehead.

  Lord Gregory had to act quickly to keep General Escott from manning an unnecessary defense against the visitor. Borg was no enemy, but even still, a fifty-man mounted troop was dispatched to escort him through the streets of Dreen to the modest castle the monarchy was residing in while the dwarves built the new palace. Mikahl imagined the wolves were worrying the newly promoted general and the people of the city to death. A demon tore through Dreen only three turns of the moon earlier and destroyed a score of homes and thrice as many people. Borg wasn’t nearly as big or as ugly as the demon had been, but he towered over the Red City’s low buildings just the same. There was no doubt he was frightening the citizens. It couldn’t be helped. Mikahl knew the people would relax after they saw him welcome Borg, though. He smiled as the excitement of the reunion coursed through him.

  Mikahl hurried outside to the castle’s entry yard, which was really just a glorified horse pen. The knot of armed men forming up outside staggered him.

  “Commander Lyle, please get these men out of here,” Mikahl ordered.

  “But, Your Highness,” the man argued carefully. “General Escott said-”

  “I don’t care what he said,” Mikahl snapped. “Borg is my friend, and no more threat to us than a ladybug.”

  “But the wolves?”

  “The wolves are even closer to my heart than the giant is!” Mikahl’s voice betrayed displeasure at being argued with over the matter. Already he could see the giant a few streets over, striding quickly closer. A sack holding something the size of a barrel keg was thrown over his shoulder.

  “Out of my sight now,” Mikahl yelled. “All of you, and if any of you so much as thinks of harming one of those wolves, you’ll be pulling the Lord of Lokar’s cart around with Ra’Gren!”

  Just then, a massive white-furred wolf leapt the wall that surrounded the castle yard and charged full speed at the High King. To their credit, at least a dozen of the archers scattered among the soldiers drew arrows and aimed at the wolves. Luckily for them, no one loosed. Even when the great wolf’s huge paws landed on the High King’s shoulders and sent him onto his back, they held their arrows. Commander Lyle was suddenly terrified. The shoulder of the wolf that was strolling leisurely past him came up to his chin. His hand went to his sword hilt but stopped when he saw Mikahl fighting away nothing more than slavering tongues and wagging tails. The warning growl of another wolf directed at the archers snapped the commander into action. “Double time it out of here, now,” he screamed, and the men started complying.